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<<~ wakarimasen! ~>>

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Untitled

"Memories aren't made to last,
especially not the happy ones.
The sad seem to linger;
walk towards the catacombs
then fade into darkness.
Even in light, they hide
in the corners
so that cleaners will miss them. "

Your shrink never made sense.
He should stop speaking in verse.

You tell him your father was an abusive drunk,
that your daughter committed suicide,
that you caught your wife
sleeping with another woman.

Your stomach wakes up on the couch.
The tuna casserole in the fridge
looks delicious.
Shame your stomach doesn't agree.

You don't recall meeting Miranda
but that doesn't bother you
quite so much as your impotence.

Pinned to a perfectly ironed suit,
Gone shopping with friends.
Be back at 6.
Love always,
Miranda


The silver Beemer gives you a devious wink.

Today's agenda:
budget slashing
lunch
sign retrenchment forms

To: M.T. Rabbus
To: J. Smith
To: M. Grove


It is with great regret…
You have been a valuable asset…
Your services are no longer required…

Victor Lampard, CEO

You pause between each letter;
Take a sip from the flask.
Your signatures aren’t as dry as the whiskey
But they leave the same aftertaste.

Animal documentary…
Japanese game show…
Spanish Moto GP…
German pornography…

“Right on time”
A puzzled look.
“It’s six o’clock”
Another puzzled look
And then a shrug.

Her heels lay on separate steps;
Red like her over-showered skin.

Another day,
Another suit,
Another note;
Visiting friends.
Be back at six,
Miranda


Your Nokia vibrates,

“Victor, it’s Jacob.
We’ve got protestors!”

“Start bulldozing at nine”

The Beemer glares at the protestors
Hurling bottles of abuse.

You glare at the girl
Chained to the acacia at 8:58.

You tell her to move;
Her blue eyes ignore your voice.

The bulldozers start;
Determination turns to uncertainty.

The bulldozers move forward;
Uncertainty turns to fear.

After your release
You find everything that was yours
Never was.

Only the red leaves remain.

Not my most brilliant piece of poetry ever. I'm thinking it sounds far too much like a short story. Comments?

8 Comments:

  • I beg to differ - I'd say that is you at your best. I like you better unpoetic. It's just so brutally beatiful. The opening lines are a little iffy but the rest was lovely.

    L.

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at May 09, 2005 12:39 AM  

  • I'm glad you think so. My ext 1 teacher didn't like the original short story i appropriated this from.

    By Blogger Yuki, at May 09, 2005 9:03 PM  

  • Fuck extension one teacher... (metaphorically). I am infinately more important.

    L.

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at May 09, 2005 9:16 PM  

  • HAHAHAH! I'm glad the fucking is all metaphorical because she's old and wrinkly and... ewwwwwww....

    By Blogger Yuki, at May 09, 2005 9:34 PM  

  • I DUN GET ANY OF IT YOU METAPHORICAL FREAK XO hahaha! jk jk~ Its very... creative! =X

    By Blogger Jenny, at May 10, 2005 5:56 PM  

  • You're a freak! =P It's about as blunt as poetry will ever get. The second edit of it gets some what messier.

    By Blogger Yuki, at May 10, 2005 8:12 PM  

  • I'll agree with the brutally honest part. That's exactly how i'd describe it. Yes.. it's a little insane for my liking, but that's just a reflection of my apparently crappy taste in poetry. Write something about rainbows and butterflies and I'm guaranteed to like it lol.
    MaryJ_

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at May 10, 2005 8:33 PM  

  • i did write something about butterflies!

    By Blogger Yuki, at May 10, 2005 8:48 PM  

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